


Frosted Floors

by Senri



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, implicit sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 11:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senri/pseuds/Senri
Summary: A cold morning in the clubhouse.  Hiruma's used to conditions being less than ideal; Mamori isn't.  A short HiruMamo piece, originally written in 2007, wow.





	Frosted Floors

December mornings in the clubhouse were always bitingly cold, which Hiruma personally disliked; but he was a creature addicted to suffering in pursuit of strength and so he bore it. On the worst of the fucking freezing days frost licked a rime on his small windows and laid a carpet of white crystals down on the bare concrete floor.

Usually Hiruma persevered, took things as philosophically as he ever did, and layered another blanket or several onto his camp bed, but in the past few weeks Mamori had become a pleasant semi-nightly fixture and her soft body curled up next to his worked better for warmth than a down quilt. She’d never gone through a really cold night in the clubhouse, though. Hiruma woke on a particular morning to her muffled yelps and the not-unpleasant vista presented hooking her bra, yanking on her blouse, smoothing her hair, all the while bobbing from foot to foot on the frigid floor.

“Hiruma, it’s cold!” she gasped, as if he couldn’t guess. He cast a lazy glance downwards, amused to note the track of Mamori-sized footprints melted on his frosted floor. “How can you stand this?!”

“Keke, fucking manager,” he said, rolling onto his back and folding his arms under his head. “Walk on the clothes, that’s what they’re there for.” He’d dropped pathways of dirty laundry on the floor in anticipation of mornings like this. 

“That’s filthy,” Mamori pronounced, but she bundled herself over to stand on an old jersey quickly enough. “You’ll get rats and then what. And I can’t find my shoes or socks!” She glanced around with a somewhat wild face. “Hiruma, get up, it’s under an hour to class! I can’t go to school without shoes!”

“What do you think Kerebos is for?” he said, smirking. “He earns his fucking keep. Anyway, get back on here, you can miss fucking first period, I’ll deal with it.” He didn’t think she was likely to find her patent leather clogs, or extra socks, in anything like a timely manner, and it would be a fucking laugh to have a good time while her classmates drowsed through morning calculus class.

“We have a test today!” Mamori said, voice pitched slightly frantic. “I’m going to take it I don’t care what!” Wincing, she stepped onto the concrete and began to shuffle through his crumpled clothing. “Don’t you have any idea where things end up in here?”

“Check out in the fucking front,” he suggested, grinning wickedly. “You kicked them off pretty damn fast last night.”

Mamori sighed in a put-upon sort of way, and then gasped as shifting a dingy t-shirt aside revealed her shoes plus yesterday’s floppy white socks. She yanked the socks on, jammed her feet undaintily into her shoes. Hiruma stirred himself when she snagged the vanilla body mist she stored in his dresser-cum-dining room table and began to spritz herself with it. “Hey, hey, cut that out, fucking manager – don’t stink up my room with your girlypoo shit, that’ll hang around for days.”

“Don’t complain, Hiruma, it’ll smell much nicer,” Mamori said, smiling sweetly. She turned her hand towards him and misted sweet frosting smell over his bed. Hiruma jolted up, passing right through the misty cloud, and flashed his patent too-many-teeth Youichi grin.

“Oh, it’s war now, fucking manager! Watch yourself today!”

Fully dressed and moderately presentable, Mamori flashed him a smile perilously edging into the realm of smirk. She jumped back from him, ducked neatly out of his grab for her, made a sideways dash that would have made Eyeshield 21 proud, and vanished out the door.

Going after her over the snowy ground with only boxers on was not the best fucking idea. Hiruma stalked over to his cleanish clothes pile and began to dig through the mound of jackets and socks, setting aside the least-wrinkled shirt and tie. He would shower to get the smell off and then head to class – it didn’t matter if he was late, and he didn’t care if he had a fucking test.

Someday he’d convince Mamori to take a morning off. Hiruma draped his tie over his shoulders, took one deep breath and then another, tasting summer-sweet and vanilla over his tongue. Then he laughed at himself, and headed for the showers.


End file.
